


Chicken Soup for the Dark Wizard's Soul

by fireicerage906 (spirantization)



Category: Doctor Who, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Humor, Implied Relationships, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 09:21:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2343326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spirantization/pseuds/fireicerage906
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>or: The Tenth Doctor writes self-insert Dumbledore/Grindelwald fanfiction.</p><p>The Doctor knows how their final confrontation should have happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Doctor Writes

**Author's Note:**

> This is my take on the Dumbledore and Grindelwald battle... I just couldn’t help myself! I cried at the end of Deathly Hallows when Dumbledore said Grindelwald showed remorse later in life, and I just had to write this. Many thanks to my friend shakespeares_nightingale — she’s always been supportive of me! I’d like to also dedicate this to my other best friends, the_valiant_child and supertemp! You guys are inspirational, I was thinking of you all when I was writing this!

The young soldier shuddered against the ground as a plethora of coloured lights streamed overhead, absurd and deathly fireworks against the night sky. He could feel the earth tremor as the spells made their mark and the deafening explosions that seemed to come from everywhere.

He didn’t know where the rest of his fellows soldiers were, although the sick feeling in his gut told him they were already dead. They had never really stood a chance to begin with, but too soon they had been forced to scatter against the overwhelming opposition that lay before them. _At least they had fought_ , he thought desperately as a spell came dangerously close to his head and he was forced to slink deeper into the mud. People were still fighting — that had to count for something, didn’t it?

As he heard the shrieking cries of unnameable dark creatures from somewhere in the distance, the young soldier shuddered once again and steeled himself. He had to move, had to run, had to get away from here. If he continued to lie on the ground, something — or someone — would catch up to him and he would die, alone and defenseless. He grasped his wand a little tighter in his hand and raised his head slightly, still wary of the volley of spells that followed him forwards. He began to crawl slowly, arduously, forward. Praying to whatever deity would have him at that moment, he pulled himself to his knees, and then even more gradually to his feet, and he started forward once more, ducking low and keeping his eyes fixed firmly in front of him. _Don’t look back_ , he told himself. _You can’t look back. There’s nothing you can do for them now._

He reached the line of trees at last, sagging momentarily against the trunk of a particularly large evergreen. There was a little more cover here, but it still wasn’t safe enough; he had to keep moving. With more effort than it seemed he had ever exerted in his life, the soldier hauled his body away from the trunk and stumbled on. The world was functioning on a tilt, and he could still hear the spells and explosions, somewhat muted now, that urged him to continue.

He heard the relief camp ahead before he saw it — the yells and screams of dying soldiers, harried Healers barking orders and the odd _crack!_ of someone Apparating in or — more likely — out. A novice Healer rushed forward as he reached the edge of the camp and fought the desire to collapse at her feet.

“Smithwick, we’ve got another one — come on, we’ll help you, just lean on me —”

“No,” he coughed, too weak to pull himself away from her but determined all the same. “No. Dumbledore. I need — Dumbledore — he’s here?”

“Somewhere,” the novice said dismissively. 

“No,” the soldier gasped. “I need — Dumbledore —”

A warm hand descended on his shoulder, and he turned to look into the brilliant blue of eyes of his former professor. He seized the hand like a drowning man would cling to his savior, and whispered “Grindelwald. He’s here, he’s — killed them. They fell —”

The soldier didn’t know what he was saying anymore, and it didn’t matter. Dumbledore nodded once, then pulled his wrist away, drawing his wand with a flick. His face was hard and determined, as if he regretted what he was about to do.

“Stay here,” he ordered softly. “I’ll go. He’s — he’s my responsibility.”

“Dumbledore, you can’t go!” cried another wizard on the man’s other side. “There are dark creatures out there, curses are coming down like rain -- if you can even get close enough to him —”

“He’ll meet me,” he replied calmly. “This ends here, tonight, one way or another.”

“Good luck,” the soldier whispered solemnly. “If — if anyone can kill him, it’s you.”

“I can’t just kill him,” Dumbledore said, gazing out at nothing in particular. “I have to offer him a chance. I — I have to save him.”

***

He wondered how his voice didn’t shake, how his hands didn’t tremble, how his legs didn’t carry him far from this place. He was glad that his body didn’t betray the dread that was clawing away at his insides, or the fear that laced his blood and made him feel slightly dizzy and sick. He somehow managed to move away from the relief camp, his body taking him through the forest, closer to the the sound of war.

As Dumbledore stepped out from the tree at the very edge of the forest, the last obstacle between him and his fate, the air deadened with a sudden quiet that seemed to actively mute the sounds of his feet as he moved across the field. Grindelwald knew he was here. Good. That would make it much easier... or much harder.

Grindelwald was standing in the middle of the field, half turned towards Dumbledore as if waiting for him to catch up. Dumbledore could see the Elder Wand clasped in his hand, although he made no effort to raise it in either defense or attack. He merely eyed Dumbledore as the man drew nearer.

Dumbledore stopped a short distance away. He took a deep breath. “I know what you’ve done, Gellert,” he said quietly. “I know what you’ve done — to other people, to yourself — to get here. How many have you killed?”

Grindelwald left out a laugh, his face twisting briefly into a comic imitation of the joy that had so filled the young man Dumbledore had once known. The laugh was soon swallowed up, and Grindelwald look disgusted.

“Of course you know,” he said. “You were there. You remember how it all started — for the greater good, remember? Don’t you? When we were young, and we used to scream out our brilliance to the world? Do you?” He ended with a shout, still glaring. Hate and rage corrupted his once handsome features, blurring and changing the contours of his face that Dumbledore had once spent so long memorizing with sight and touch.

“I can save you,” Dumbledore said suddenly. For his old friend, his best friend, was there any distance he wasn’t willing to go, anything he wasn’t willing to sacrifice to save him? He had to listen, he had to. He couldn’t be so far gone that he refused to listen to reason. “Please, let me help.”

Grindelwald shot him a withering look. “Oh, Albus, you really just don’t get it, do you?” he said in a pitying sort of way, almost as if speaking to a small child. “I’ve got the Wand —” he brandished it before him for the first time, “— the unbeatable wand, the greatest of the Hallows, everything we ever thought and dreamed of —” he reached up and tapped it against his skull, laughing, “— and you’ve got... Well. I suppose you brother is still alive, isn’t he?”

“What good are the Hallows if you destroy yourself in the Quest?” Dumbledore staggered closer. He had to make him see reason, had to make him change his mind... He didn’t know what would happen if Grindelwald refused to listen to reason, but he had long ago felt the tendrils of fate wrap them together, and he knew that the Dark Wizard’s fate was tied inextricably with his own. He couldn’t lose him. He couldn’t. “They’re not worth it if you kill yourself mastering them.”

“The Hallows are everything,” Grindelwald exclaimed hoarsely, his eyes widening with the fury of someone denouncing sacrilege. “What would I be without them?”

Dumbeldore shook his head. “The Hallows are nothing,” he pleaded. “What about us? Have you ever wondered what I would be without you?”

Grindelwald snorted. “Are you going to ask me out on a _date_?” The ‘again’ hung in the air, implied. He regarded Dumbledore coldly.

His old friend gazed at him, sadly. “You could be brilliant, you know,” he said.

“I already am brilliant.”

“I mean it,” Dumbledore insisted. “You’re a genius, you really are. Just — brilliant. Stone cold brilliant. And you could be so much more — you — you could be beautiful. _We_ could be so much more. We could work together... it would be my honour.”

Grindelwald was standing stock-still, his face impassive. Was there a chance, perhaps, that his mind could be changed? He had to believe there was, or else all hope was lost. Dumbledore pressed on.

“You don’t need to control the world,” he said. “Don’t you see? You could be a great scholar, or a professor, and help pass down your wisdom to future generations — _please_. Helping the world — that is power enough. That is the greatest honour. What could be better?”

Grindelwald’s face contorted with fury, and he brought the wand down in a grand sweep. Dumbledore threw himself sideways as the air exploded next to him, a shock of green light that burnt the air. Curse after curse volleyed down, and so suddenly he found himself hurtling curses — deadly curses, curses to maim and torture and ruin — against his best friend, against the boy he had loved that summer in Godric’s Hollow.

The power of the Elder Wand was both great and terrible to witness, and its fury was matched — or perhaps fueled — by that of the man wielding it. It took Dumbledore a while to notice — helped, no doubt, by his efforts to assuage the assault and put forth his own offensive — that Grindelwald was screaming something besides spells.

“Everything!” he screamed, swiping viciously with the Wand. “Everything! _Everything_!”

“Please!” Dumbledore cried. “I’m asking you — properly — to just stop, please, just _think_!”

At last, one of his spells struck its mark on Grindelwald’s chest, and the wizard fell back, his wand flying out of his hand and falling to the ground some distance away. He lay on the ground, looking up at Dumbledore with narrowed eyes.

“Go on, then,” he panted. “Do it. Kill me.”

“No,” Dumbledore said. “I can fix this. I can fix _you_. You’re my responsibility... if only I had stood in your way, all those years ago... maybe none of this would have happened. I’ll take you back to Hogwarts, you’ll be safe there.”

“You mean...” Grindelwald’s face twisted with disgust. “You’re just going to _keep_ me?”

“I... No.” Dumbledore let out a frustrated sigh. “Perhaps... perhaps I’ve been at Hogwarts for too long. Maybe it’s time I settled down, time I cared for someone else. I could take care of you. Gellert, I could _help_ you.”

Grindelwald was silent for several long moments, his body lying spread eagle on the ground. Then his shoulders visibly collapsed against the ground, and his eyes closed. He had the look of a man who had been thoroughly defeated, but in an odd way Dumbledore could see that he looked happy — happy to be relieved of the burden of power, happy to surrender, happy at the prospect of being cared for.

“Can you fix me, Albus?” Grindelwald whispered, pulling himself to his knees. He let a choked noise that sounded somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Can you?”

Dumbledore rushed forward and fell to his knees, embracing his oldest and greatest friend. They held each other for what seemed like eternity, both of them crying, both of them mourning what was lost yet celebrating what they had gained.

“Crying in your arms,” Grindelwald coughed out against his sleeve. “Happy now?”

“We can do this, together,” Dumbledore told him. “We can leave, we can go far across the world... we can go anywhere.”

“No,” rasped Grindelwald. “Nurmengard. I shall go... you have the wand, Albus. I shall pay for my crimes... alone.”

Dumbledore let out a sob as the two friends huddled together, briefly reunited by the war-torn earth. He knew that he couldn’t change Grindelwald’s mind, and that perhaps it would be the best for everyone, in time. They both knew that their time together would be short, but Dumbledore knew, then, that even the briefest of time made all the difference in the world — for no one was beyond saving.


	2. The Master Rewrites

from: masterofdrums  
to: fireicerage906

I confess that I was a little disappointed with this story. It started out well (although the bit with the soldier was a little odd) but I don’t feel as if the ending accurately describes what would have happened. I don’t think Grindelwald wanted to be saved. I think Grindelwald wanted to keep on killing people. He had some powerful wand, right? Why would he be interested in being fixed if he could just wave the Elder Wand around and have everything fixed for him? I mean, he could kill anyone and everyone he ever wanted to! I think you might need to analyze your characters a little harder.

I decided to rewrite the ending. You should edit your story and change it to this:

//

“You mean...” Grindelwald’s face twisted with disgust. “You’re just going to _keep_ me?”

“I... No.” Dumbledore let out a frustrated sigh. “Perhaps... perhaps I’ve been at Hogwarts for too long. Maybe it’s time I settled down, time I cared for someone else. I could take care of you. Gellert, I could _help_ you.”

“And spend the rest of my life, locked away, imprisoned with you?” Grindelwald spat. He literally spat at Dumbledore, even though he was lying on the ground. They used to have spitting contests in their youth and Grindelwald had always been the best. He hadn’t slacked off with his practice either, although he couldn’t say the same for Dumbledore. That one had probably never spat at anyone in his life.

“No, please, it can’t end like this,” Dumbledore cried pathetically. “What about everything that we’ve done?” He began to weep in earnest.

“What about it?” Grindelwald said, enjoying Dumbledore’s misery. “I would rather spend the rest of my life alone, in some cold cell in Nurmengard, than be stuck with you at Hogwarts. I _refuse_.”

“I know you, Gellert,” Dumbledore sobbed. “I know you! You want to come with me!”

“No,” said Grindelwald cruelly. “I guess you don’t know me as well as you thought. I can’t stand another fifty years with you.”

“But you can’t,” Dumbledore blubbered. Grindelwald couldn’t believe they’d once been friends — how embarrassing! “You’ve got to come with me!”

“No,” he replied, enraptured by Dumbledore’s tears. He threw him a crooked grin. “Look at that,” he whispered. “I win.”

//

Seriously, now that is a great end to a fic! You don’t even have to credit me for it, you can just have it.

***

from: fireicerage906  
to: masterofdrums

I’m sorry that you didn’t like this story all that much. I suppose not everyone will like what I’ve written, but it meant a lot to me (I admit I started tearing up when I wrote the last line!).

I think your rewrite was really out of character. Dumbledore wouldn’t lose it like that, and I don’t think it was very nice of Grindelwald to mock him when his old friend is in distress. Would you do that to an old friend? And you say that Grindelwald didn’t want to be saved — are you sure that’s true? If he just wanted to kill Dumbledore, why did he first stop to listen to what he had to say? I think he really wanted to listen to all of his options, and Dumbledore was the one who could offer help. I think he was brave to accept it.

***

from: masterofdrums  
to: fireicerage906

NO WAIT I HAVE AN EVEN BETTER ENDING!

//

“Please!” Dumbledore cried. “I’m asking you — properly — to just stop, please, just _think_!”

At last, one of the spells struck its mark on Dumbledore’s chest, and the wizard fell back, his wand flying out of his hand and falling to the ground some distance away. He was dead. Grindelwald let lose a triumphant cry — his greatest enemy was dead! Now, there was nothing — and no one — to stand in the way of him and complete domination!

“I was for the greater good, Dumbledore,” he said, kicking at the man’s body as he strode away from him to go kill more of that pathetic excuse for a resistance.

//

This is what would happen. Grindelwald’s got an unbeatable wand, right? How could Dumbledore even take it from him without killing him? This is how the battle really should have ended. I even used lots of dashes, like you do, so no one will even be able to tell the difference!

:D :D :D :D :D

***

from: fireicerage906  
to: masterofdrums

Did you even read the book??? The Elder Wand isn’t unbeatable! Dumbledore was BETTER than Grindelwald even if he had the Wand! And you don’t need to kill the previous owner of the Wand to gain mastery of it — you just have to BEAT them. Dumbledore did that! He defeated him! So the wand is his. Oh and also you may have noticed that couldn’t have possibly happened, as Dumbledore is ALIVE for 6 of the 7 books (RIP Dumbledore!) so he couldn’t have been killed then! It would completely rewrite time and then who knows what might have happened — Voldemort might never have been defeated either. Imagine how terrible that would have been!

Even if you don’t respect my story, please have the decency to respect J.K. Rowling’s fabulous work. Thank you!

***

from: masterofdrums  
to: fireicerage906

lol u mad tho

***

from: fireicerage906  
to: masterofdrums

I don’t have anything more to say. Please don’t contact me again, I’m having a rough day as it is — Merry Christmas, right? People like you make me want to turn away in shame.

:(

**Author's Note:**

> The second chapter is identical to the first comment thread. It's funnier to me to have that section only in the comments, but for practical reasons I've shifted its contents to a second chapter.
> 
> This fic is old; it was originally written in 2010, after End of Time/series 5 had already aired, and was posted to my livejournal under the name "Writing Through a Perception Filter/Chicken Soup for the Dark Wizard's Soul or: The Tenth Doctor writes self-insert Dumbledore/Grindelwald fanfiction". Yes. All that. I haven't edited it in four years because I am way too lazy to do that.
> 
> This would never have been written without everyone over at [this thread](http://starwhales.livejournal.com/26527.html?thread=1398431#t1398431) over at starwhales, and special thanks to _thirty2flavors for quote-hunting and saying things like "make sure you put this in there, it gets me every time" (alternatively, you can curse her out for encouraging me).
> 
> If you think you recognize a quote from somewhere, you are correct. I absolutely cannibalized 90% of the Doctor/Master's interactions.


End file.
